LIBRARY OF CONGRESS. 

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UNITED STATES OF AMERICA. 



THOUGHTS 



BY 



JULIA A. DOOLITTLE. 



PRINTED FOR THE AUTHOR. 




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(( JAN 


4 J8 


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NEW YORK : ^^!^^v.ASH^^^<^£ 


THOMAS WHITTA JCER.^^=== 


= :=:»^ 


2 AND 3 BiuLE House. 




1882. 





[Copyright, 1882.] 



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WITH MANY HAl'I'Y KKCOLI.ECTIONS 

THIS LITTLE VOLUME 

IS DEDICATED, WITH AFFECTION AND RESPECT, 

TO MY CLASSMA TES OF THE YEAR '77, 

AND OUR MOST ESTEEMED TEACHER, 

PROF. J. M. CASSETY. 



CONTENTS. 



PAGE 

The Bank of Life 7 

One Woman's Love lo 

Golden Links ^5 

To Summer iS 

Love's Prayer 21 

Blended Colors 24 

Little and Much 27 

Beautiful Hands 29 

To Helen 32 

If I COULD Know 35 

A Curious Season 37 

Rose Leaves 4o 

To Arlouine 42 

A Platonic Idea 44 

Love' s Question 46 

Sleeping • • • • 4^ 

Content 5o 

At Last 52 

Vesper Bells 54 

After the Rain 57 

Gleaning 59 

Thanksgiving, 1881 62 

Rest ^5 

A Glimpse ^7 

A Winter Rain ^9 

We cannot Tell 7i 



vi Coiitoits. 

PACK 

Aftkr 73 

To W. W. S 76 

An Epistlk 79 

The Wino 82 

Phantom Cuaskrs 84 

The New Year's Promise 87 

Now ()o 

String 93 

No Time 95 

Ii^ 07 

Our Besi' Gik rs 99 

A Rouln's Sonc. 102 

Another Year 104 

Grains ok Sand 107 

Novemher 109 

Birthday Greeting 112 

Air Castles 115 

A Bright Shik 118 

UNKN(nvN 121 

At Eventide 124 

Longfellow 127 

Waitinc; 130 

To A F R M-.N D 133 

What I Saw 136 

The Reason 139 

Christmas Eve 141 

What Does rr Ma iter ? 143 

To Emma 145 

That is Ali 147 

Different Ways 149 

Do w E Forge 1- ? i «; i 



fJjt llrtuli of litt. 

At the ]?ank of T.ifc old Time doth sit, 

Cashier for many ai;es, 
While his ai^^ed hand is steady and firm 

As he turns those marvellous pages — 
Those pages that bear a record sure 
Of lives so stained and lives so pure. 

And multitudes come and multitudes go 
Out and in of the mighty portals, 

To learn the fate and length of years 
Tliat are granted unto mortals, 

And Time looks over their checks with care. 

And writes an accurate record there. 

And many go to the bank, I fear, 
To draw from their store of years, 

To find their account is overdrawn, 
And the pages blotted with tears — 

(7) 



8 TJie Bank of Life. 

Tears that the pitying angels wept 
Over terrible records so truly kept. 

Many that spend their years so free, 

That live many years in one, 
And find themselves in debt to Time 

Ere life is scarce begun ; 
Like Cleopatra's banquet-cup, 
Dissolve life's treasures and drink them up. 

Live months in a day, years in a week. 

In heedless, reckless pleasures, 
Then are called to account by vigilant Time 

For wasting of costly treasures. 
And find a debt they wantonly made, 
A debt so great it cannot be paid. 

And looking back o'er the wasted years. 
Find nothing their past to brighten : 

Not a sunbeam they gathered nor gleam of 
love 
Their weary heart to lighten ; 



TJie Bank of Life, 9 

Not a tender word spoken nor kindly deed, 
As fruit of their sowing when greatest in 
need. 

Then, ere we are called to the wicket of life, 
Our record of time to be given, 

Let us prayerfully strive to not o'erdraw 
Our accounts in life or in heaven. 

But use the years unto each assigned, 

For ourselves and others as God designed. 



'TWAS a lovely spot, built in the rocks 
By nature's hand, and sheltered well 

By bending boughs of giant trees, 
Which close above in masses fell, 

As though they loved to bend them there 

To guard a place so wondrous fair. 

Beneath, the sea with surging waves 
Sought in its wrath this spot to gain, 

But vainly dashed against the rocks, 
Receding with a moan of pain, 

While baffled, foaming masses spring 

High up, and to the crevice cling. 

A gentle maiden, sweet and fair. 

Had found this spot in wanderings oft. 

And strewed the rude and rocky seat 
With clinging mosses, rich and soft, 
(lo) 



Ofte Woman s Love. 1 1 

And made it like a fairy bower, 

In which she lingered many an hour. 

Not of the beauty that is sought 

By worldlings was this maid possessed, 

But with that better, womanlier grace, 
And shy, sweet ways, she still was blessed, 

And naught on earth could fairer be 

Than bower and maid 'neath sheltering tree. 

And daily there she watched the sails 
That drifted out into the main. 

And at the even turned their course 
Back to the rocky shores again ; 

But one alone she ever sought, 

For at the eve her love it brought. 

And as the ship e'er neared the shore, 
She knew his loving eyes would seek 

This rock-bound nook, and scan it o'er, 
And signal, though they could not speak ; 

And when at last they reached the land, 

To list his step upon the sand. 



1 2 One Wovmns Love. 

For to this spot lie alway came, 

Knowing his welcome sure and true, 

And 'neath the massive trees he told 
Tlu' sl(M"y that is e\'er new, 

And sealed with kisses warm the vows 

'Midst i;"iant elilTs and bending houi;hs. 

One da\' he came to sa)' good-by 
I'>e he should sail for man}' a day, 

And soothe her with the promise bright 
Of swift return, and smiling say, 

*' 'I'hen 1 will sail across the sea. 

And bear m\' oww away with me." 

And there the\' ])arted full of hope, 

Vet with a dread the\' dare not speak — 

lie with a buo\'ant, happy smile. 
She with sad tears and whilened cheek — 

And st(H)d and w. "itched him from the shore 

Till gleam of sail w<is sec^n no more. 

For man)' a da}- she sought the cliff, 
For many an hour she watched the sea, 



One WoincDis Love, 13 

Until llic llnic bad conic ill last 

Thai liis return for her shouhl l)c, 
And there with heart -beats vviid and fast 
She vvatchc-d until the day bad passed. 

The day had passed, and nif^ht came on 
With chillin<^ mist ; she heeded not, 

And still she stood and strained her eyes 
b\)r ship or sail : had be for^;ot ? 

ilad he for<;ot his waiting" one? 

Ah ! no ; he'd come at risinj^^ sun. 

He came not then ; and day by day 

Went by ; and then the news at last — 

The shi]) went down, with all on board, 
'Midst darkness, in a ra^in^- ])last ; 

And yet the maiden still would say, 

'' It is not true : he'll come to-day." 

Long, weary years, and yet the rock 
She ever sought from iTiorn till night, 

Until the fair brown hair of youth 
Had grown to be so strangely white ; 



14 One Woman s Love, 

The bright eyes grown so dull and dim 
Still scanned the sea in search of him. 

Until one day, the fishers tell, 

They found her there, alone and dead, 
Upon the rocky seat whose sides 

Long years ago with moss she spread, 
And, watching there, life ebbed away 
As ebbs the tide, from day to day. 

And oft the fisher folk repeat 

The wondrous tale, and whispering say, 
She saw at last the ship's white sail 

That came to bear her far away, 
And with her lover the ship had cast 
Its anchor 'neath fair skies at last. 



Slipping from out life's chain, 

Each day e'enmost, 
FiUing our hearts with pain, 

Some golden link is lost — 
Some treasure that we loved 

And thought our own. 
Drifts silently away. 

And leaves us so alone. 

Some dear hand that we held 

In tender friendship's ties, 
By death's dread breath is felled. 

And oh ! so quickly dies ; 
The hand slips from our own 

Into a stronger one, 
The loving heart is stilled. 

Its pain and sorrow done. 

(15)' 



1 6 Golden Links. 

And then we miss them so, 

' The dear ones gone ; 
For a little way adown life's path 

We must walk alone ; 
But in the after years 

We feel that God knew best, 
Their feet had grown so tired, 

And needed rest. 

There's many a golden link 

Missing from out life's chain, 
Many a dear, sweet face 

Down to rest we've lain : 
We do not call them lost, 

But in the Shepherd's care ; 
He cheers our aching hearts, 

And bids us meet them there. 

Not where our feet grow tired. 

Or hearts feel pain, 
But sheltered by His love. 

We'll find our own again. 



Golden Links. 17 

When God shall call us home, 
Up through the mystic way, 

We'll find the dear ones waiting 
That we have lost to-day. 



CiD .Summer. 

Here is a health to thee, beautiful Summer, 
Fair season of sunny skies ; 

To thy gay tinted flowers 

And verdant bowers, 
And fields where thy soft kiss lies. 

Great poets have sung of thee, Summer, 
Thy lovers are legion, too, 
And my pen, though weak, 
Still ventures to seek 
Some praise befitting to you. 

I love thy roses, sweet Summer, 
Fair roses that bloom to die ; 
I love their sweet breath 
While fading in death, 
As the perfume sweepeth by. 

(i8) 



To Summer. 19 

I love thy blue skies, bright Summer, 
Thy fields of nodding grain. 

Thy clouds like a pout, 

As the sun peereth out, 
And turns to diminish the rain. 

My heart fain longeth. Summer, 
That thou shouldst "" bide a wee," 
But the fading flowers 
And swift flying hours 
Foretell how soon thou wilt flee. 

But methinks there are whisperings. Summer, 
Through fields and blooming flowers, 

Of a summer more fair 

And a pleasure more rare 
Than this transient season of ours. 

The ripe golden grain foretells it 
In rippling song to the wind. 

And birds soaring high 

Sing the glad reply. 
In chorus so sweetly combined^ 



20 To Summer. 

Of a summer that never departeth, 

Of brightiiess our hearts ne'er guessed, 
Of skies ever blue, 
Where the faithful and true 
Shall lay down life's burdens and rest. 



T CANNOT find in other words 

The depth of love my heart affords 

For you, my own ; 
Their songs are sweet and fondly true, 
But not with depth as I love you, 

And you alone. 

Grandeur and might are in their song. 
But truth and tenderness belong 

In my brief lay- — 
The truth that lasts while time shall be, 
Across life's waves to eternity, 

Through every day. 

When sad my heart with its weary load, 
Or tired my feet on the rugged road, 
This is my plea : 

(21) 



22 Love s Prayer. 

Weary and faint there comes to mind 
The comfort in the trust I find 
Your love for me. 

My hand slips not from your firm hold, 
Though seeming friends turn false and 
cold, 

Still in my love ' 

I turn to the heart that's ever true, 
And know I still may trust in you 

And God above. 

Darling, I long so to abide 
Forever through life by your side, 

If it could be ; 
Sometimes it seems so very long, 
The gladness dies from out my song, 

I long for thee. 

And by the grave of the dear old year 
I pause with many a happy tear 
For days of peace, 



Loves Prayer. 23 

And pray the coming one may be 
As kind and merciful to me, 
And murmurs cease. 

And when the bells ring out in time 

The old year's death, the new year's chime, 

Each silvery tone 
Shall bear a prayer of earnestness 
That God will keep, and love, and bless 

My darling one. 



Shades of gray are blending 

Into the crimson light 
Of the sunset hue of eventide 

That ushers in the night ; 
Colors of gold and crimson, 

But we do not heed the gray, 
Till, lo ! it alone remaineth. 

While the brightness died away, 

And, watching, I sit and wonder 

If it may not be 
Like unto life clouds blending 

Ever for you and me ; 
Crimson, and gold, and gray. 

Blended as God deems best, 
Commingled ever and aye. 

Until the night of rest. 
(24) 



Blended Colors. 25 

The crimson light of morning 

Faded at our noon, 
With the gray remaining ever 

And the gold light gone so soon ; 
And yet there are golden dashes 

Ever across life's sky, 
And crimson jets of color 

Under the gray may lie. 

But our weak heart's disappointed 

Because the gray is there, 
Lose much of the richest color 

That makes our lives most fair ; 
For on the darkest clouds ever 

The rainbow's hues are cast, 
So maybe life's darkest shadows 

Prove brightest at the last 

Oh, that our hearts could feel 

The same sweet trust 
Through all the blending life clouds. 

And know that God is just ; 



26 Blended Colors. 

E'en through darkest cloudlets 
Watch for the golden dye, 

Knowing behind the sombre shade 
The fairest light doth lie. 

And so adown life's valley, 

Or unto its dizzy height, 
We shall watch the mystic shadows 

Of the gold and crimson light ; 
And across to the bright shore yonder 

Our bark shall sail some day, 
Into crimson and gold forever, 

But never a shade of gray. 



littlt anir Putlj. 

I HEARD a little bird singing 

Out on a bough to-day, 
In the wind so chill and piercing, , 

And the clouds above so gray. 

But on he sang as gladsome, 

While the storm went sweeping by, 

And minded not the blighting winds, 
Or watched the sullen sky. 

And I thought how very little 
His brief, wee life could hold, 

Scarce a crumb for his daily food. 
Braving the winter's cold. 

But list ! not one note falters, 
No hush in the sweet, low song ; 

He raises his head toward leaden skies 
And sings on, clear and strong. 

(27) 



28 Little and Much. 

All ! hearts with much of bounty, 
^ Rich m your worldly store, 
List to the roving warbler 
Singing outside your door. 

Was ever your soni;- so blithesome 
With the richness that you had ? 

When the sunlight fell the brightest, 
Was ever your heart so glad ? 

If his brief life holds so little, 

There's an instinct of trusting love 

That falters not when summer fades 
And skies frown dark above. 

And oft it proves with many. 
In the darkened life they live, 

With the smallest crumbs of gladness, 
The more of praise they give. 

And hearts are (^ft the lightest 

That sing through the piercing blast. 

Trusting the sun will shine again 
After the clouds have passed. 



Beautiful hands, and what are they ? 

Wherein lies the wondrous beauty ? 
Are they the shapely, soft and white, 
So perfect and fair, with touch so light, 

Unfit for irksome duty ? 

Are beautiful hands the ones that lie 

Ever most idly folded, 
Adorned with golden bands so rare, 
With priceless jewels resting there. 

Hands most perfectly moulded ? 

Nay, were they white as fallen snow. 

Perfect in every motion. 
If they ne'er helped another in need, 
Offered to do no kindly deed. 

In vain their fair proportion. 

(29) 



30 Beautiful Hands. 

Beautiful hands ! Ah ! gladly I say- 
That there are very many, 
Be the^^ brown as a berry, or white and fair. 
Helping some one their burdens to bear. 
Most beautiful hands of any. 

Soiled, perchance, with weary toil. 

Helping the careworn mother ; 
Willing and ready each deed to do. 
Proving the heart to be kind and true, 

Smoothing the path of another. 

The touch of those hands are worth 

Much more than those idle fingers ; 
And oft when the face from life has passed, 
On the folded hands we've looked the last, 
The thrill of their clasp still lingers. 

'Tis these beautiful hands that beckon us 

On to the shores immortal ; 
And when the journey of life is done, 
These same dear hands, when Heaven is won. 

Will lead us through the portal. 



Beautiful Hands, 31 

Beautiful hands, their work may have been 

Ever so toilsome and hidden, 
But on that shore those hands will hold 
And strike the chords of the " harp of gold," 

Nearest the throne be bidden. 

Beautiful hands ! Yet mayhap a gem 

Ne'er rested upon those fingers ; 
But they've soothed the pain of the weary one, 
And long after all their toil is done 
The blessing they brought still lingers. 



And now to-day, as oft before, 
Old Time comes knocking at your door. 
Just open wide and you will see 
He brings a '* wreath of years" to thee- 
Each year a flower, and counting on 
We find they number twenty-one. 
Ah hum ! 

Why do I sigh ? I cannot tell : 
Each wave of life a magic spell, 
And Time is, oh ! so swift in flight — 
He crowns you twenty-one to-night. 
And smiles as he entwines the flowers, 
And thinks how fast will pass the hours. 
Ah me ! 

And as each year this message brings 
On Time's forever flitting wings, 
You leave for me in bungling rhyme 

(32) 



To Helen. 33 

To take the terror out of time, 
For / about two months ago 
Felt just like you, exactly so. 
Ah woe ! 

Yet why repine ? each passing year 
Has brought much bliss and scarce a tear. 
Can we not hope that at our feet 
Another year may bring more sweet ? 
Then hope, my dear, as oft before, 
That there are better things in store. 
Ah ! hope. 

Then twenty-one, and now of age 
To make your debut on life's stage, 
To rule the hearts of men — who knows ? 
To marry some time, 1 suppose. 
To taste the cup of life's sweet bliss 
In lovers' smiles, in love's own kiss. 
Oh dear ! 

And now my wishes I will write 
For you, so many and so bright, 
3 



34 To Helen. 

That life may bring you perfect peace, 
Till Time his endless flight shall cease, 
And ever bring you that pure love 
That outlasts earth and lives above 
Forever. 

And though our ways may far divide, 
Borne on Time's relentless tide, 
Yet still through years and parted ways 
My heart will turn to these bright days, 
And friendship's power I then will prove, 
If not in rhyme, why then in love. 
Adieu ! 



If cl toutir Ilnnta. 



(il! 



If I could know, when life is done, 

And they fold my hands for aye to rest— 

If 1 could know those folded hands 
Had even one life helped or blest, 

Or strewn one flower upon the way, 

My heart would be content to-day. 

If I could know, when through the gate 
To the ''silent city" upon the hill 

They bear me away, there will be a heart 
To miss, and mourn, and love me still, 

And sometimes come and weep o'er me, 

How happy to-day my heart would be ! 

If I could know, on the path I trod, 
Some trace of good would still be there 

To strengthen another or smooth the road. 
Or help some heart its burden to bear — 

(35) 



36 //" / could Kuoiv. 

If only one seed of i;oocl would sprini]^ 
And britihtness into one life brinir. 



If 1 could know — but after all 
The true wa\' that is left to nie 

Is tr)'inL;- to do the I) est 1 can ; 

The result may remain a mystery : 

In my cjuiet home on the hill I'll rest 

In peace, if I have done my best. 



There is a season in each year 
That draws forth many a briny tear 
From every editor, I fear, 

And it is Spring : 
'Tis not because the air is chill. 
Nor lack of cash to pay his bill, 
Nor bird-notes that the air doth fill 

(For birds tail/ sing) ; 

But it's because the tortured brain 
Of many cannot bear the strain. 
And long to tell the tale again 

Of poet's lyre ; 
And all are smitten just the same, 
Each feels the grand poetic flame, 
The change is only in the name, 

This Spring desire. 

.(37) 



1,^ A Curious Season. 

They Irc.'it upon the bahiiy air 
(The editor is sure to swear 
And i)ut his shc.irs directly tliere 

Into the theme) ; 
And poets si^h and loni]^ to rise 
And take the public by surprise 
Before the fire within them dies 

As doth a dream. 

And that is why tlie sprinj^-likc balm 
I^'inds editors so stern and calm, 
And each repeats a soothinij psahn 

To keep up heart : 
For they have learned through weary 

years 
To dry their sympathetic tears 
And pitilessly to use the shears 
In every i)art. 

And then the public learn this too, 
And in the Spring; look weak and blue. 
And read the loni; effusions through 
With good intent ; 



A Curious Season. 39 

Feeling that like all evils then 
Vov chastening and improving men, 
These tortures of Spring-poet's pen 
1^'or good are sent. 



^0se-$eafcres. 

Close by my window my favorite roses 
Have budded and blossomed, and now to 
my grief 

The south wind comes blowing, 
And no mercy showing, 
Is bearing my roses away, leaf by leaf. 

A few I upgather, to keep as reminders, 
When rude storms are blowing, of sunny 
June days. 

Though life not remaining. 
Still its perfume retaining. 
Each petal thus teaches God's wonderful 
ways. 

For our lives, like the roses, are short in 
duration, 

f4o) 



Rosc-Lcaves, 4 1 

Yet we're weaving; a record each day in life's 
til read ; 

May it be of hands willing', 
Life's duties fulfdlin^^, 
'i'o be a sweet memory when we are dead. 

And though when wc die some other comes 

onward 
To take up in life the place we did fill, 
Yet the deeds we traced then 
Can ne'er be erased there, 
And the good we did is permanent still. 

Then I gather the rose-leaves and tenderly 

hold them, 
So much of our own lives these wee petals 
tell. 

Of the living and dying, 
The sweet comfort supplying 
Of long, fadeless summer, when all will be 
well. 



Some tribute to-day I'll endeavor to pay- 
In respect to the day of your birth, 

And fill up the glass while good wishes we 
pass 
For the rest of your journey on earth. 

May I offer to thee the wish that there be 
Much bounty of pleasure for you, 

And life's sunshine be bright until cometh 
night, 
And the dark clouds that dim life be few. 

May you gather the flowers in the fair sunny 
hours, 
Till the chill of November shall blast ; 
And then though they fade, yet the bright- 
ness they made 
May linger when spring-time is past. 
(42) 



lo Arlouifw 



43 



M.'iy riiiu;'s bells ring for aye, as llicy rinj^ 
lo-(lay, 
Ivcpc^atin^ for many a year, 
And Tinu^'s I ouch be li^;lil and oKl a^e l)e 
bright 
And shadowed by never a tear. 

If my words be weak in attcmptinp^ to S])eak 
The fuUness tliat lies in the heart, 

We fmd all words vain, and to us it is plain 
That we hav(' but spoken a part. 

'I'hen let's fdl up the cu]), and hope while 
we sup 
That every sweet pleasure be ^iven, 
And 'nealh clouds of ^ray may be shining 
alway 
The sunlight and loveli^ht of heaven. 



% |1|atonif JUbfa. 

TlIEY say our souls, as life onward rolls, 

Arc ever aimlessly drifting, 
A part of the whole (a rather poor soul), 

Till Fate, the veil uplifting-, 
We find our other half, and then 
We grow to be completed men. 

If this be so, I do not know, 

I sometimes almost doubt, 
For there's niany a soul that is never whole — 

What's the other half about ? 
On some life avenue or street 
My other half I trust FU meet. 

Hut what will the}' do with those who go 
through 
The whole of life without mating ? 
(44) 



A riatonic Idea. 45 

And that poor lonely half (I can't help but 
laugh) 
Forever and ever a waiting, 
Walking life's path alone, in roses and 

thorns, 
A poor lone maiden whom every one scorns. 

Hut this comfort is sweet, if I don't chance 
to meet 
My beloved half on the road, 
That half of some souls, when rude trouble 
rolls. 
Are braver for bearing the load 
Than whole ones, depending upon a man, 
For depend on such creatures who possibly 
can ? 



Robe's (ijuestion. 

Mv dearest otu\ how I wonder 

If you laiow how I want \'oii to-nii;ht, 

W'luMi the shadows i;ro\\ (Un^per and h>nL;er, 
Antl da\' is lakini; its lliidit. 

Does )'our liearl ever feel I an\ e.iUini; ? 

Not even U)ve's ears eouUl ha\e heard 
I'he wliisper, and }et 1 am hnii^ini;, 

Loni^ini; for one lo\ ini; word. 

And yet \\li\' .nn I thus si<^hin^ ? 

J\l\' he. Ill holds no iniai^e but thine, 
And I love )'on so truly .ind londK' 

That lovini;' seems almost di\ ine. 

I ha\e no words that ean moxe \'ou 
Like the m\'stieal whispers of art, 

lUit the truest of all words, '* I love you," 
Are the worths that well up from mylieart. 



Love s Question. 47 

I am desolate, lonely without you— 

Can you guess of tlie deep, silent pain ? 

The only relief is the ho})e, love, 
I soon shall be with you again. 

Dear heart, can you hear me? I want you, 
And yet all this longing is vain. 

Not now, but some time, yes, some time, 
I will be with you again. 



Skipping. 

Under the snow in quiet sleep 

Beautiful flowers are lying, 
While for the days when they'll awake 

Our impatient hearts are sighing, 
When the tiny flowers with perfumed breath 
Will awake from the icy arms of death. 

Under the snow they give no sign 

That they will e'er awaken, 
Yet though the wind blows bleak and chill 

Our faith is never shaken, 
For we know the sunlight's gentle touch 
Will awake the flowers we love so much. 

Under the snow in silent sleep 

Two household blossoms lying. 
And oh ! for the sound of their tiny feet 

Our hearts are ever sighing ; 
(48) 



Sleeping. 49 

The feet that had gone such a little way- 
Are resting beneath the snow to-day. 

Under the snow, in dreamless sleep, 
While the days and nights pass ever, 

And we weep the bitter tears of grief, 
But our faith is shaken never : 

He that the frailest flower doth keep 

Cares for our treasures while they sleep. 



(iTontcut. 

I AM content that life has brought 

A gift so groat to me ; 
A love so tender comes unsought 

More than I dreamed could be. 

I am content though life's bright sun 
Sometimes seems clouded o'er ; 

Where love is true doubts never come, 
So I shall doubt no more. 

I am content, God's way is best, 
My lips shall not complain ; 

He gives the tired flowers rest, 
Refreshes them with rain, 

I am content each day to feel 
How great the gifts of mine ; 

No mortal power from me can steal 
These treasures held divine. 

(50) 



( OIlllHl . 



51 



I am contcnl, life's winding; road 
(irows sliorU:!' cvciy hour, 

At cvc lay dovvu IIk: weary load 
I'rccd from its wci^dil and j)Owcr. 



%t fast. 

Those sweet hours my spirit hoped for 

With such trusting and such prayer, 
And what seemed to me Hke roses 

Budding in the summer air, 
They have come and have departed, 

Bringing all the joy to me 
Which my faith and hope had braided 

In the thought — " it is to be." 

Oh ! that we could stay the moments 

Wherein deepest life is stirred. 
When the spirit ceases waiting 

With the watch of hope deferred. 
And the dream that danced before us 

In anticipating hours 
Comes with all its sweetest blessing. 

And we feel that it is ours. 
(52) 



At Last, 53 

Then we think that earth is better, 

Heaven is nearer, God is good ; 
We forget the thorny places 

Where our bleeding feet have stood. 
Come at last, thou long-sought blessing, 

Come to cheer us on our way, 
And we feel that earth and heaven 

Are not far apart to-day. 



Wiii'.N the evening;' sIkuIovvs settle down 
And tlie birds have ceased their singing, 

My fancy roams across the sea, 

Where tlie vesper bells are ringing ; 

From ivied towers and ancient tlonies 

The sweet, low nuisic ever comes. 

And weary hands have toiled all day, 
And hearts for sweet rest longing 

List with joy to the evening bells 
To the twilight lunir belonging ; 

Such a fitting ending to the day, 

When care and toil are j)ut away. 

The drcani)' hour, the setting sun. 
The shadows longer growing, 
(54) 



Vesper Bells. 55 

The sleepy twitter of tlie birds, 

The tired e.ittle lowiiii;-, 
And tlicn \\\v. cliiine of silvc^r hells 
The needed rest of ni^ht foretells. 

'Tis a fancy sweet at eventide, 

Sometimes I ahnost know 
I'm in some solemn, vinc-elad tower, 

And see the bells swin^^ to and fro, 
And hear the music die away, 
As ni^dit comes stealing after day. 

Perchance at the eventide of hfe, 
When shadows chill and dreary 

Creep o'er the sunlight of onr day. 
And our hearts are pained and weary. 

That the ^^olden gates may swing ajar, 

And we'll liear the vespers from afar. 

From eternity's tower the vesper bells 
The end of life's day foretelling, 



56 Vesper Bells. 

While the promise of rest and peace and joy 

In its mystic chimes is swelling, 
And we, with heart-hopes long denied. 
Shall go home at the vesper, satisfied. 



Up above me, so high, so free, 
A bird is singing a melody, 
So full of joy and birdlike praise, 
Of a Father's wise and loving ways, 
For the gladsome rain. 

At my feet, in their brightness fair, 
Flowers are blooming everywhere. 
Lifting their little heads to drink 
The cooling draught — nor ever shrink 
From raindrops bold. 

The grass-blades grown so crisp and dry 

Alike give signs of their reply ; 

The dark green hue comes back again — 

Thy cooling drops were not in vain, 

Refreshing rain. 

(57) 



58 ^ft^'f tJii' Rtriu. 

The lcav(\s of trees, <^rovvii still and sear, 
Awakened to new life a])i)ear, 
And rustle as their joy they tell 
Unto the wind, that loves them well, 
Of friendly rain. 

The whole ^reat earth, alike combined, 
In its own ways, so undefined, 
Gives token of its perfect joy 
In chords whose tones have no alloy 
In perfect son^'. 

Somehow our hearts awaken, too, 
Their sonj^s of gladness to renew, 
With everything the wide earth o'er 
Our heartfelt joyousness out])our 
VciX timely rain. 



^kilning. 

Lr>()KiN(; o'er life's broad fields, 

Their shadows, and woiKh'ous sheen, 
At the toilers at tlieir work, 

How 5.dorious a thin^ to ^lean ! 
And yet the cleaners tire, 

Repine at their duty plain, 
And wish for them had been 

11ie rea[)in^^ of sheaves of [^rain. 

Lo ! the sowers have come, 

Sowing the wondrous seed ; 
Lo ! the evil one 

Cometh with many a weed ; 
Then the good reapers, too, 

Gather the golden grain. 
Perhaps for m.any of us 

The gleanings may remain. 

(59) 



6o Clrdfiifii^. 

'Tis not so simple a task, 

Gloricnis be it indeed, 
If from out life's way 

We leather e'en one i^ood seed ; 
For in many a nook 

Hidden by tares may lie 
Tender i;erms of i;ood 

That ma}' ripen b}' and by. 

Do not faint or repine, 

They that leathered sheaves 
Did a i;rand life's work, 

Neither need we brini;- leaves ; 
For in all the days, 

Yea, all the years to come. 
There will be plenty for us 

To save and gather home. 

If we watch all aloni^ the way, 
Nor miss a single Lorain, 

Our weak, frail hands may prove 
A balm for care and pain ; 



Gleaning. 6i 

Remembering through each day 
The least of deeds is seen, 

And God may richly bless 
Those who only glean. 



Cljanlisgibhtg, 1681. 

Thanksgiving Day of an eventful year 
So full of pain and sorrow, care and fear, 

And dark, cloud-shadowed days ; 
Full of the power and greatness of our 

King, 
Full of His love, that every day doth bring, 

And of His marvellous ways. 

Thanksgiving Day, a day for prayer and 

praise. 
Prayer for His guidance through the future 

ways. 
And praise for blessings past ; 
Praise for the Hand that ever leads us on, 
Nor e'er forgets the weakest, frailest one, 

But shelters from the blast. 

r 

Upon this day, e'en but a year ago, 
How little of the future did we know. 
How little could have guessed ! 

(62) 



Thanksgiving, 1881. 63 

Many that joined us then in happy song, 
Loved ones, for whom our yearning hearts so 
long, 
Have been called to their rest. 



An empty chair to-day in many a home 
Waiting, prepared for one that ne'er will 
come. 
And hearts so full of pain : 
Bright homes made desolate by fire and 

flood. 
Hands bearing the stain of human blood, 
Come as a sad refrain. 

And yet across life's-seething, angry waves, 
Over our sorrows, o'er our loved ones' graves, 

Thanksgiving anthems steal ; 
And hushed with one accord all hearts grow 

still, 
Feeling that all has been His blessed will. 

And in submission kneel. 



64 



T/i(Viks^il'ii 'i}io; 1 8 S I 



'I'hosc laid at rest ncoil lU) regret to-tlay ; 
More those \\\\o still arc travclIiiiL;' the way 

That feel the pain ; 
Grim cUnibt ami [cav ne'er enter on that 
shore 

Where our beloxed shall sini; forevermore 
The i;hul, trium[)hant strain. 

Dream not over memories so sad .uul dim, 
Devote this da\', as it shoulil be, to llim 

" h'rom whom all blessings come," 
That should w c^ li\e another year to sec, 
Our li\ es may purer, ])etter, worthier be 

Vov our eternal home. 



A &Ay of })raise, full of the heart's own songs, 
Gladly to llim, to whom all praise belongs, 

Our )'early offering bring ; 
No strain of bitterness to enter in, 
No rude chord of doubt or care or sin, 

Pure be the songs we sing. 



A I.I I ril': wokI, yd lull of promise t'jrcal, 
l''()i- uliosc liiirilincnl cvcM'y lu.irl will wait, 
Aiul suri' to conic, carl)' hi- il or laic, 
This loni;('cl-lor rest. 

Naiii;hl hut needs its soolhint;, ([uict power, 
riic luarl ih.it waits tln'ou|_;li many a weary 

hour, 
riu^ hlilhcsomc hird, yea e'en the tiniest 

(lower 

PVh'Is iu'ccI of rest. 

I'hc nij.'lil's repose (hat follows afler day, 
VVIuMi for a lime all care is put away, 
y\nd we receive that hoon for which we pray, 
Ivcfrcshin;,;, restful slecrp. 

/\t morn the- hurdcMi seemeth li^ht to hear; 
l\efreshc!d, the earth a|)peareth e'en more 
fair ; 

5 (^'5) 



6(> Rest. 

The path looks smoother just beyond us 
there, 

After a little rest. 

As when the lamp of life shall cease to burn, 
Unto that promise how our hearts will turn, 
For its sweet blessing how our hearts will 
yearn, 

God's perfect, dreamless rest ! 

In perfect trust to fold our hands and say. 
The Lord has led us through life's changeful 

way. 
So shall He lead us at the close of day 
Into His courts of rest. 



I CAUGHT a glimpse of Spring to-day. 
It came in the slyest, stillest way, 
It came in a breath of warm, sweet air, 
It came in the sunshine everywhere, 
This little, sunny glimpse. 

A bluebird sat and trilled its lay, 
And I knew the sunny, springlike day 
Made it happy, with hopes maybe 
Soon the buds and flowers to see, 
I knew by its happy song. 

The clouds looked softer and lighter too, 
Fold on fold, 'gainst the sky of blue. 
Soft and tender, as half afraid 
And ashamed of the shadows that they 
made, 
Hiding the beautiful sky. 

And peering forth from its dreary bed 
A pure, fair snowdrop raised its head ; 

(67) 



•68 A Glimpse. 

The wind blew light as it swept above, 
And seemed to touch it in tender love, 
The sweet, pure flower. 

This was only a glimpse, but it made me 
glad ; 

With the bright spring-coming can one be sad ? 
.Soon the hill, the valley, and wood 
With sweet wild flowers, as a living flood, 
Will be bedecked and strewn. 

The glad, bright Spring and Easter-tide 
•Cometh unto us side by side 
One with the hope of transient joy. 
The other with promise naught can destroy, 
The promise of endless Spring. 

As we welcome the blossoms waking to life, 
When we've done with earthly care and 

strife. 
So our souls shall awaken to life complete. 
Just as the flowers that spring at our feet 
Awaken to transient beauty. 



% mhxin gixm. 

Old, dreary rain, with ceaseless tread. 
With frowning, shifting clouds o'erhead. 

What brings you here ? 
But yester e'en the skies were bright, 
And flecked with golden clouds of light, 

So soft and clear. 

And now the sky is overcast, 
Dark, dull clouds go scudding past 

Above my head ; 
While dripping, dripping from the eaves, 
The raindrops fall, the wind, too, grieves 

For brightness fled. 

Thou'rt not like Summer's gladsome rain, 
That dances 'gainst the window-pane 

In merry glee ; 
That keeps in time with birds and air, 
Refreshing, gladdening everywhere, 

'Tis not like thee. 

(69) 



70 A Winter Rain, 

Thy steady, ceaseless, sober tread, 
From which all joyous sound is fled, 

Is sad to hear ; 
The branches dripping, brown and bare, 
And swayed in gestures of despair 

(Or so appear). 

No little flowers await caress, 
The cold earth's winter barrenness 

Is all you find ; 
If you would wait Spring's bud and bloom, 
Then with a joyous song will come, 

It would be kind. 

Come with the birds and sunshine, too. 
When the sleeping flowers in need of you 

To life have crept ; 
And, nodding, answer to thy call, 
Where gladsome brightness covers all. 

Where thou hast wept. 



mt Citnnot Cell. 

Wk cannot tell as the days ^^o by 

Where the brightest moments of life may 

lie ; 
We cannot tell till the day is passed 
How deep the shadow that night will cast ; 
We cannot tell, for unable are we * 
To solve life's simplest mystery. 

We cannot tell but a soul of grace 
iMay adorn the humblest dwelling-place, 
Or those embittered by sin unfold 
'Neath palace walls adorned with gold ; 
We cannot tell, for our human eyes 
See but that which on the surface lies. 

We cannot tell by the calm, fair sea, 
How great its depth or its treachery, 
How many a hideous crime will hide 

(11) 



72 We Cannot Tell. 

When its rippling waves the smoothest glide, 
We cannot tell, for its depth unknown 
Is fathomed ever by God alone. 

We cannot tell but the joyous smile 
Be but a mockery all the while, 
Beneath may be a heart in pride 
Is seeking by smiles its pain to hide. 
And eyes that seem the brightest may be 
Looking through shadows most drearily. 

We cannot tell, and 'tis better so 
Each heart its joys or griefs to know, 
For the One alone who can sympathize 
Judges all things with righteous eyes, 
And depths of all hearts or fathomless sea 
To Him alone is no mystery. 



After life's morning hearts grow tired 

And feet grow slow ; 
After life's noon we long for rest, 

Sweet rest to know. 

After a drought we pray for rain 

And feel our need ; 
After we stray far from the fold, 

Pray Christ to lead. 

After life's work is nearly done, 

Looking back we find 
Many a cloud that darkly frowned 

Was silver-lined. 

After from off life's cup of wine 
We sip the froth, 

(73) 



74 After. 

To drink the dregs that still renuiin 
Our hearts are loath. 



After long years of waiting here 
I'or seeds we've sown, 

When we most need the blessed fruit 
To us is shown. 

After bright days have passed away 
For gathering sheaves, 

Upon the trees of wasted time 
Are only leaves. 

After youthful days have fled 

Ne'er to return, 
The blessed pleasures that it brought 

Too late we learn. 

After life, its toil and j)ain, 

Comes dreamless sleep, 

Never to wake to earth again 
And, waking, weep. 



After. 75 

After that niglit, what comes at morn 

We cannot tell ; • 

Hiit for the faithful ones wlio sleep 
We know 'tis well. 



Co m. m. 5. 

To-DAY Time's bells are a ringing 
The knell of a year that is past, 

While over the threshold already 
The future year's shadow is cast. 

Do you turn from its beckoning finger 

That bids you follow it on, 
To dream o'er the year departed, 

Or sigh for the days that are gone ? 

There are days out there in the future 
How many ? our hearts cannot ken, 

But as bright, if we will believe it. 
As any the days that have been. 

Our lives are not rneasured by moments, 
By days or months or by years, 
(76) 



To IV. W. S. yy 

We are young in age if we will it, 
Or old in our youth with our tears. 

If we gather the morning's fair blossoms 
As treasures, to keep them in store, 

We shall never lack sunshine or brightness 
When youth and its pleasures are o'er. 

And memory holds beautiful treasures 
That awake in their sweetness to-day. 

Kept locked in the heart's secret chamber, 
That yield not to time or decay. 

May life's sun grow brighter and fairer 
As Summer gives place unto shade, 

And the beacon of faith grow the nearer 
As all of earth's brightness shall fade. 

F^or the crimson light of life's even 

Hath a more blessed promise than morn, 

For from out of its weird, dusky shadows 
The dear light of Heaven is born. 



.78 To W. W. S. 

Then may many a happy returning 
With all fairest treasures be blessed, 

Till you shall awake in the morning 
From out of life's cares, into rest. 



%n epistle 

TO A NEWLY MARRIED AUNT. 

You asked me to write a poem, 1 think ; 
The honor I feel, I am sure, 

But the power to comply, 

The harder I try 
Seems harder still to procure. 

Were it on a death my pen would be swift ; 
On a birth I am sure to do better ; 

But on nothing at all. 

With ideas so small. 
Inspiration is bound by a fetter. 

On wisdom of love my wit I would prove, 
For love is a poet's ideal, 

But that theme I don't dare, 

For I am aware 
That loving to you is quite real. 

(79) 



8o 



/// l'.(^istlt\ 



So my wishes I'll i^ivc, ;is K>ii^ as you live, 
The hest lh.it m\' he. ill e.m eoiiiin.iiKl, 

May the siinlii;hl t)f love 

I•^)t•evel■ improve, 
And friemlship .iiul pleasure expand. 

May your past he hriidit from morn till 

ni^ht, 
And if ever the sl-cy he o'ereast 

l\i nuMuher tlure lies 

I 'nderncMth f.iiKM" skies, 
'^Ko view when ihe sh.idow is p.ist. 

Aiul it's ever my wish, in Dame h\)rtune's 

dish, 
WhiMein she doth inimde life's wine. 
He the hitter drops few 
That are idven to \'ou, 
And the sweetest of sweetness he thine. 



Then i;()od-niL;ht, dearest aunt, I am sittini; 
aslant 



An l:/>isl/(\ 



8i 



i)[ ;i ( li.iir, ;iihI poMlioii i', ji.iin ; 
I'.ircvvcll for .i season, 
( )\\ \\M\\\\\\\ my reason 

Von sliall \\i::\.x from Jcrir.ha a^^ain. 



Across the fields, through bush and tree, 
The wind comes softly blowing, 

With a rustle of leaves at its near approach, 
As a mighty river flowing, 

And over the flowers it stops in play, 

As it rushes past on its endless way. 

Methinks the wind is a harpist wild, 

Whose music never ceases, 
Whose notes are low or louder grow 

As its mighty speed increases ; 
It has never stopped since the world began. 
Rut through all ages plays for man. 

Through summer hours, in dreamy haze, 
Its notes grow mild and lighter, 

Its touch on the leaves of giant trees 
Is soft as the sun shines brighter, 

(82) 



The Wind. 83 

]5ut it changes chords with changing skies, 
With storm all sound of sweetness dies. 

We cannot tell from whence it comes, 

Nor yet to where it goeth, 
But like the waves of a mystic stream 

Its music forever floweth, 
Around the world through every clime, 
In tune with the steady steps of Time. 

Nor will it stop until that day 

To whose morn there is no even, 
When all earth's music shall die away, 

Artd we list to music of heaven ; 
When our souls shall enter the ''Gates of 

Peace," 
Then the wondrous chords of the wind will 
cease. 



|)ljantonT (injascrs. 

Upon life's way, through every day, 
Where'er the feet of mortals stray, 

You'll find a phantom chaser ; 
Each some loved object of their own, 
Within each heart a lofty throne, 

Where they intend to place her. 

And many are the phantoms fair 
With men pursuing everywhere, 

By many names we know them ; 
Fortune and Fame they most pursue, 
And lo I their lovers are not few, 

Though many range below them. 

Sweet Pleasure has her lovers bold, 
Who at her feet lay priceless gold 
If she a smile will deign ; 

(84) 



Phantom Chasers. 85 

And oft she mocks their eager prayer, 
And takes from them the little share 
Of light that did remain. 

Dark Envy enters many a heart, 
And bitter is the pain and smart 

Her evil counsels bring ; 
What little sunlight Pleasure gave 
E'en Fame or Fortune cannot save, 

Through her it all takes wing. 

She aye points out some fairer place, 
Some one who has a fairer face, 

Some hand filled with more gold ; 
And then all pleasure seems to sway, 
The sweet, bright sunshine fades away, 

And hearts grow hard and cold. 

While fickle Fortune beckons some 
Farther and farther still to come 

Upon the treacherous ring, 
Then vanishes with mocking laugh. 
And leaves the weary one to quaff 

The bitterness 'twill bring. 



86 Phantom Chasers. 

And Fame is scarce a kindlier one, 
Yox many a heart when life is done 

Gaze from the lofty height, 
Findini,^ that all they sought was vain, 
Unworthy of the toil and pain, 

Leaving them only night. 

Yet on the phantom chasers go, 
If all is vain, then be it so. 

They have no time to think ; 
I^itter or sweet the draught they hold. 
If it be mixed in cups of gold. 

How eagerly they drink ! 

And all the quiet, peaceful rest 

By which a pure, true life is blessed. 

To their worn life unknown ; 
They turn them to the restful shade 
When marsh lights of the phantom fade, 

And reap what they have sown. 



As we stand upon the threshold 

Of another mystic year, 
Peering out into the future, 

Filled with wonder, almost fear, 
Knowing not what it be holding 

In its future days to be. 
While methinks it seems to beckon 

Us to seek its mystery : 

Thinking of the days of shadow. 

Days of sunshine and of rain — 
For no life, however happy. 

But must have its hours of pain — 
Far down through the distant ages 

Comes this sweet promise free 
To all His children, '* As thy day 

So thy strength shall be." 

(87) 



88 TJie New Year s Promise. 

With this promise need we fear 

To tread the future ways, 
To watch for sunlight or for clouds 

Through all the unknown days ? 
Knowing that if dark clouds arise 

And threatening skies we see, 
Yet God has said, that as our day 

So our strength should be. 

Strength if the sunshine comes to us. 

To not grow proud or vain ; 
Strength if sharp sorrow scourge our hearts, 

To bravely bear the pain ; 
Strength to take up the New Year's work 

With willing hearts in trust. 
Feeling that He who guides us e'er 

Is wise, and true, and just. 

Strength to grow better if we will 
Through these brief days to come ; 

Strength when life's dream shall vanished be 
And God will ceill us home ; 



The New Year s Promise. 89 

Strength as we need, no more, no less. 

No surplus of our own, 
But granted daily from His hand 

Who leaves us not alone. 

The future holds no bitter cup 

But we have strength to drink. 
It beckons to no path so rough 

From which our feet should shrink. 
For looking up in faith and trust 

Catch many a glimpse of heaven. 
Finding for every day we live 

The needed strength is given. 



lofa. 



Let us gather our flowers as they bloom on 

our way, 
Let us store up the sunbeams from every 

bright day, 
Let us speak the kind works our heart 

prompts us to say, 
Ne'er wait for the mystic to-morrow ; 
For the flowers may fade ere we find them 

again, 
And the sunshine be followed by cold, dreary 

rain, 
And the kind words too late be spoken in 

vain. 
And our lives be clouded in sorrow. 

Let us help with kind words the toil-worn 

one, 
Let us do now our work while it's time to be 

done ; 
(qo) 



Now. 9 1 

Let us stretch helping hands to the weary 
and lone, 
Now, when they most need it ; 
For in vain are words when hearts cease to 

beat. 
In vain the fair blossoms laid at their feet, 
In vain all our love that might have been 
sweet, 
When too late for them to heed it. 

Let us praise God now for blessings to-day, 
Praise Him for the sunlight that floods our 

way. 
Nor forget vvhcn the sunshine is bright, to 

pray 
For strength when its light is clouded ; 
And the beautiful flowers we gathered at 

morn 
Will brighten our hearts and help to adorn 
Our lives when the shadows of night are 

born. 
And life may by autumn be shrouded. 



92 



Now. 



Only for to-day be all our care, 

Be it clouded with shadows or bright and 

fair, 
We have nothing to do with the future day 
there, 

Holding its pleasure or sorrow. 
Day by day let our duties be done, 
Weaving life's mystic threads one by one, 
With a full life ended at setting sun, 

And the dawn of a blessed to-morrow. 



Spring has come, go feel its breezes, 
Watch how fast your nose turns blue ; 

Though the zephyrs give you sneezes, 
*' Gentle Spring " is something new. 

Spring has come, go count the freckles 
Pasted fast upon your nose ; 

Don't complain, those are the kisses 
Of the first spring wind that blows. 

In the yards the grass is springing, 
One green blade I found in mine ; 

Little snowflakes fell upon it, 
And they broke its tender spine. 

Spring has come, the frogs are croaking, 
And as each hoarse strain I hear 

How I wish they had a shawl on. 
And some cotton in their ear. 

(93) 



94 Spring. 

Spring has come, wee birds are singing 
Melodies so soft and sweet, 

But they look so awful chilly, 
Trying to protect their feet. 

Spring has come, and peace departed 
Out from many a home I ween ; 

Men, with visions of cold luncheons, 
Even now look pale and lean. 

But it's spring, ** ethereal mildness," 
Soft-trained poets love to sing, 

And among the mighty army 
I, too, welcome thee, O Spring ! 



10 €xrat. 

There's no time to dream along our way, 
For the future to-morrow will not be to-day, 
And sands from life's hour-glass passing 
away 
Leave us no time to dream in. 

No time for complaining how heavy the 

load, 
For plainly before us there lieth the road. 
And complaint helps not to an easier mode 
Than the way that is assigned us. 

No time to censure the rest of mankind. 
Within our own garden a plenty we'll find 
Of weeds to uproot, if we will but mind 
Our own especial duties. 

No time for angry contentions or strife, 
They are rude discords that mar a life. 
And serve as a merciless, pitiless knife, 
To cut bright bands asunder. 

(95) 



96 A^o Time. 

No time for doubting or fear can there be, 
Or to try to unravel life's deep mystery, 
Across the measureless, fathomless sea 
We shall no longer be doubting. 

There is time only our whole work to do, 
Proving ourselves to be faithful and true, 
Be the clouds many or be the flowers few, 
Flowers and sunshine are coming. 

Time ? Ah me ! ere the setting of sun, 
Could the good deeds be many and faithfully 

done, 
The cross be well borne, the bright crown 

won, 
How blessed a life to be living ! 



If. 

If we would only try to be 
From care and sorrow ever free, 

And never look before us, 
Nor ever scan the sky of life 
For clouds mayhap of care and strife, 

Or fear they hover o'er us : 

If we could ever feel content 
That shadows too by God are sent 

As well as sunshine ever, 
That bitter mingles with the sweet, 
Making in all this work complete, 

Yet He forsaketh never : 

If we would not e'er watching be 
For ships to come across the sea 
Laden with richest blessing — 
The gifts of God which, day by day, 
Are scattered all along life's way 
Are better for possessing : 
7 (97) 



98 //.' 

If we could catch the crimson light 
At eve, that tells a morrow bright, 

Nor dream of any raining — 
We'd find some pleasure every day, 
Make others happy on life's way. 

And not be e'er complaining. 

If we would only think it so, 
Life would not be so hard below, 

And we more fit for heaven ; 
To use the talents we possess, 
To make all happier, not less 

Be thankful they are given. 

A human life can't be all bright. 
Each day is followed by the night. 

But after night the morning. 
The shadows that o'er each must fall 
Are needful shadings after all, 

The best of life's adorning. 



#nr §^st (Sifts. 

How apt we are to take God's gifts, 
The best of gifts He has given, 

And fold them close to our selfish hearts, 
With no thought of the Giver or heaven, 

Blindly trusting our strength alone, 

Calling them vainly all our own ! 

How we hold them close at even's shade, 
No thought of parting or sorrow, 

And awake, alas ! with aching heart 
And empty arms on the morrow. 

Finding that earthly love was vain, 

And the Father taketh His own again. 

Then we feel how weak we were to hold. 
How vain our own self-trust, 

(99) 



loo Our Best Gifts. 

And plans for the future, with tear-dimmed 
eye, 
We watch as they crumble to dust, 
For the trust we need and strength so sweet 
Are only found at the mercy-seat. 

For alone by Him who has stricken us 
Can the wounded heart be healed. 

And the promise of meeting our lost again 
By the dear Christ's blood is sealed. 

And the cross though heavy He helps to bear, 

And points on the way to meet them there. 

He may bid us wait, for life's work yet 

Remaineth still unfinished, 
And in soothing the pain of another's grief 

We find our own sorrow diminished. 
For the way is plain, the path is straight. 
And we must labor as well as wait. 

And so at last, with our work all done, 
None of life's duties neglected, 



Our Best Gifts, loi 

We shall listen with joy at close of day 

For the summons so long expected, 
When the gates of eternity open wide, 
And we find our loved on the other side. 



% ^lobin's Song. 

This is what a robin sang, 

Sang and swayed in the sunlight there, 
While all the earth seemed full of song 

And everything looked wondrous fair : 

" I am happy as I can be" 

(And who could doubt it, dear red- 
breast), 
'* My gentle mate and birdlings three 

Are safely sheltered in yonder nest. 

*' The fairest home one e'en could wish. 
My little life seems all complete. 
Full of light and love and peace, 

And life and love are sweet, are sweet. 

" I am as rich as I can be 

Where the sunlight gleams through bud- 
ding trees, 
My home is flooded with golden light, 
Rocked and swayed by every breeze." 
(102; 



A Rodin s Song. 103 

Ah ! dear old robin, sing on, sing on, 
While light and life are left to thee ; 

I can catch a glimpse of your bonny home 
Softly nestled in yonder tree. 

Yet, happy bird, I still well know 

A change will come to thy gladsome 
breast ; 

Thy little birdlings full soon will grow 
Too large to keep within the nest. 

And thy desolate home, no longer bright, 
Will cease to be a home to thee, 

And budding trees and fairest light 
Dark and shadowed will seem to be. 

But like are human hearts, my bird. 
Sing on, sing on, while life's complete, 

Sing while the world is full of light, 
For life and hope are very sweet. 



^notlj^r gear. 

Across the snow-clad earth there comes 

A gHnt of moonlight stealing ; 
The clock strikes out the midnight hour 
From many a dome and stately tower, 
Another year revealing. 

Another year of life's swift course 
Has fled ; the last stroke dying 
Resounds far off on the frosty air, 
As though, perchance, it was some prayer, 
Some mystic spirit sighing. 

Farewell, old year, our hearts awake 

Beneath the echo's tone ; 
We count thy blessings o'er and o'er, 
Knowing that thou wilt come no more. 

Thou past and fleeting one. 
(104) 



Another Year. 105 

How fast, how very fast it fled, 

The twelve months rolled away ! 
The glad spring buds, the summer-tide. 
The flowers and fruit of autumn pride, 
Have yielded to decay. 

Each heart reviews its own records, 

Recalls the h'ght or shade. 
The pain or pleasure that it brought. 
The lessons all its days have taught. 

The changes it has made. 

I doubt me not most hearts will yearn 

Its ways to travel o'er. 
And shrink from taking up the maze 
Of future work and future days 

That stretches on before. 

But this is doubting ; let the year 

Begin with trusting heart. 
We'll see more clear the sunny hours, 
More sweet and fair will seem the flowers, 

Nor doubt when they depart. 



io6 Another Year. 

Ah ! be the Christmas carol then 
Chanted the bright year round, 
Not sung by tongue or wrote by pen, 
But wrought in deeds ; '* Good will to 
men" 
"And peace on earth" abound. 



drains oi Santr. 

Some think the little things of life 
Are only grains and bubbles, 

And think no pain or sorrow comes 
From little joys or troubles ; 

But they who will e'er stop awhile 

And all life's workings measure 
Will find these little grains of sand 
Are what God uses to expand, 

And make our cares or pleasure. 

*Tis not the mighty waves that dash 
Against the rock with power 

That wear within their surface smooth 
Some fissure every hour ; 

'Tis but the wavelets, baby waves, 

That kiss the rocks in impish glee. 
Whose constant pressure day by day 
Soon wear the solid crags away 

So grandly and so silently. 

(107) 



io8 Grains of Sand. 

And could we gaze into the cup 
Brimming with all life's pleasure, 

We'd find there many little things 
That help fill up the measure : 

A grain of love, a kindly word, 

E'en little smiles of gladness. 

The tiny flower we drop each day 
So thoughtlessly upon the way, 

Bring joy to hearts or sadness. 

Great men are those who do not stop 
At one great worthy action ; 

On life's broad field so full of work 
One deed is but a fraction, 

But ever still with courage firm 

And heart-love undiminished. 

Working with willing brain and hand, 
Filling each hour with golden sand. 

Till their rich work is finished. 



Chill and gray are the clouds to-day, 

And bleak the wind that's blowing ; 
We turn our eyes from the dreary sight 

To where the coals are glowing, 
And we liken the ashes covering o'er 

And blackening many an ember 
To the leaden skies and smouldering light 

Of the dreary month November. 

The wind low grieves as it stirs the leaves 
That into mounds are drifting, 

And trees are waving branches bare, 
Through which the snow is sifting ; 

The snowflakes fall so soft and light, 
The barren earth caressing, 

And sunset rays light up the sky 

As with a parting blessing. 

(109) 



I lo November. 

We turn our eyes where we know lies 

Bright Summer's fairest treasures, 
Sweet flowers so fair are covered there, 

Gone with our bygone pleasures — 
Past, but we know, though not the same, 

Flowers will bloom in the spring-time 
coming, 
Just as another day will break 

After the evening's gloaming. 

Hark ! the wind tears through the pines. 

Or moans so low and broken, 
The bitter-sweets and trailing vines 

Cling close to their shelters oaken ; 
While on and on, perchance in hopes 

Some trace of Summer finding. 
With rippling song, so hushed and still, 

The merry brook is winding. 

'Tis for a space the birds have fled, 
For a little the flowers are hidden. 

Till, as a waft of a magical wand. 
They from concealment be bidden ; 



November. 1 1 1 

And branches that now look brown and dead 
Shall be robed in bright green fairness ; 

When the fair mantle of earth is spread 
We shall forget its bareness. 

For the years they come and speedily go, 

While we pause to count them over, 
And our flower of hope and treasure of love 

The ashes of time will cover ; 
But they, like the flowers we mourn to-day, 

Will bloom in the spring-tide coming, 
When we pass through November's gloom 

To the day that hath no gloaming. 



As wee flowers grow bold 
And their petals unfold 

When the sunlight comes stealing that 
way, 
Best of wishes will start 
From the warm, friendly heart, 

On the happy return of this day. 

And the wishes will be 
That your life may be free 

From clouds that o'er life's sky are drift- 
i n <^ 
And fade ere they're born 
As the sunlight of morn 

With gold light night's shadows is lifting. 

And yet well we know, 
Though we wish it not so, 

Life must have both its clouds and its 
even, 

(112) 



- Birthday Greeting. 1 1 3 

Its care and its pain, 
Its fair skies and rain, 

To the brightest of h'ves must be given. 

And the flowers by the way 
May last but a day 

Or fade ere the wane of life's morning ; 
Let each beautiful flower, 
Though it last but an hour, 

Some drear path in life be adorning. 

Be there many bright days 
And flower-strewn ways. 

And smooth be the path you are tread- 

incr • 

Though clouds drift above, 
May the sunlight of love 

Its constant radiance be shedding. 

For life's morning is brief. 
And eternity's reef 

We must gain at the shadow of even ; 



1 1 4 Birthday Greeting. 

May bri^lit crimson and gold 
Your life's sunset enfold, 

And be crowned with the brightness of 
heaven. 

Then bright be thy v/ay 
And fair be thy day, 

With many returns of the season ; 
If I'm lacking in words, 
This comfort affords, 

'Tis fault of the muse is the reason. 



Dreams must come to every mortal, 

Idle pastimes though they seem, 
Filled with vague and curious fancies. 

Still we know they're '* but a dream 
Long for riches, fame or honor, 

For a life filled full of bliss, 
Life unmarred by tiresome duties, 

Oh ! so different from this. 

And we think how very happy 

If from out our tired hands, 
All these " tiresome duties " taken, 

We could dwell in fairy lands, 
Where the hands are ever idle, 

Softest beds are made of flowers, 
Where " Old Time " in ceasless vigil 

Does not stand to count the hours. 

(115) 



ii6 Air Castles. 

Discontented, oh ! how many, 

Reaching out for something more, 
Gain the prize, to find it leave them 

E'en more lonely than before : 
Fretful hearts in constant searching, 

Chasing phantoms through life's way, 
All unmindful of the blessings 

Coming to us day by day. 

Leaving little acts of kindness 

For some shining, distant goal, 
Wishing for great names, distinction, 

All unmindful of the soul ; 
Caring not for others' sorrow, 

Pain our hearts might help to soothe, 
Paths to other feet so thorny, 

Gentle words might surely smooth. 

Dreams are only mists and phantoms, 

Fading all so quick away ; 
Life is made of little duties. 

Little duties day by day : 



Air Castles, 1 17 

Dreams can bring no wealth of harvest, 
'* Only leaves "the reapers find ; 

Life's work done as God has planned it 
Leaves a monument behind. 



i^ §rigljt Srtre. 

There are beautiful chords in every heart 

Some word may yet awaken, 
And drops of sweet in every cup 

Await to be partaken ; 
There are beautiful lines in the plainest face, 

If we would try to find them. 
And golden bands 'neath darkest clouds 

Where the sunlight rays have lined them. 

There are restful paths along life's road 

To weary feet a blessing, 
And sunbeams peering the darkest nook, 

Some hidden flower caressing ; 
There are always calms on the roughest sea 

And a shore to every ocean. 
The bitter and sweet are e'er combined. 

With each an equal portion. 
(ii8) 



A Bright Side, 119 

Beauties are seen in every day, 

In the sunlight or the shading, 
And million stars adorn the night 

When the brighter light is fading ; 
And there's never a heart so hard or old 

But hath some memory tender, 
And never a life so worthless grown 

But might some service render. 

On the oldest wood green mosses cling 

And grow in softest lightness ; 
'Neath crooked vines and withered leaves 

Red berries hide their brightness ; 
The fairest flowers so often spring 

From most uncouth surroundings. 
And most refreshing draughts are made 

From bitterest compoundings. 

'Tis only eyes that will not see 
That lose the greatest beauty ; 

'Tis hands that shrink from plainer tasks 
That never do their duty ; 



1 2d A Bright Side. 

And hearts that ever most complain 
Will show the least compassion, 

And never do a kindly deed 
Unless it is " the fashion." 

And just such lives are never missed, 

No trace is left behind them. 
They always sought the darkest side, 

And darkness was assigned them ; 
And when death calls them to their rest 

(Be I the thought forgiven), 
I sometimes think on the other shore 

They'll still find fault with heaven. 



Stnteofon. 

Out from the dusty highway. 

In many a lone retreat, 
Grows oft the blue-eyed violet. 

Raising its head so sweet ; 
With the sun alone to see it, 

Yet Hving its life complete. 

In many a rocky cervice. 

Where human eyes ne'er view. 

Some rare, sweet flower is growing, 
Bathed with light and dew, 

Adorning its dull, bare rock walls 
With tendrils bright in hue. 

And yet who will e'en venture 
To say they grew in vain, 

Nurtured by God's fair sunlight. 
And freshened by His rain, 

(l2l) 



122 Unknown. 

Making the dark earth brighter 
Where the flowerets fair have lain. 

Like also many a quiet life, 

Brightening some darksome way, 

With tender faith and perfect love 
Taught e'er so silently, 

Giving hope to the faithless one, 
In the trust their lives display. 

Their work is not less worthy. 

Though the world may never know, 

For the flower on the pathless mountain 
Is as fair as those below. 

Their mission just as precious. 
For God has willed it so. 

Perchance the world may never 
Know the great good we do. 

And many pass unheeding 
Souls so great and true. 

But in the home eternal 
They will find God knew. 



Unknozvn. 123 

Where the willing hands so faithful 
Shall find their work not vain, 

The silent ones that murmured not 
Will never more feel pain, 

Trusting hearts shall find their own 
To never part again. 



The thoughts that come at eventide 

Are best of all the day, 
When all the little vexing cares 

We gladly put away, 
And watch the sun with crimson breast, 
And goodly promise of coming rest. 

We think o'er all we've done that day 

Since rising of the sun, 
And many a kindly deed we find 

Our hands have left undone ; 
Yet we form better plans for coming days 
As the sun sends forth its good-night rays. 

And we watch the fading of the light 

Of another day that's past ; 
Each setting sun with steady step 

Brings us closer to the last, 
(124) 



At Eventide, 125 

When the flickering life sun fades from sight, 
And we bid the world a last good-night. 

Sweet comfort comes with silent tread 

At beautiful eventide, 
For dark clouds that hung low overhead 

Now range up side by side, 
And catching the light like a glad reply. 
Lose their own dark gloom in crimson dye. 

And so it may be when life's bright sun 

Creeps slowly to the west, 
That the clouds that hung so low at noon 

Prove only for the best ; 
And through the gloom their shadows cast 
We learn to catch God's truth at last. 

And though we find at life's sunset 

Many a deed undone, 
Many a hungry heart whose love 

A little care had won. 
Yet with our failings all confessed, 
In faith we wait the promised rest. 



126 At Eventide. 

And if each day through fleeting life 

Is filled as best we may, 
We shall look with joy to the setting sun 

At close of busy day, 
And o'er our tired hearts will come 
A blessed rest when life is done. 



As we recall some sweet old rhyme 
Often sung in the long-gone time, 
And whose echoes bring us many a strain 
Of brightness ne'er to come again, 
Thus time shall never cease to bring 
Loved songs that were unfit to sing. 

As we look long on some faded flower 
That holds for us some subtle power. 
Not for its beauty, but the touch 
Of hands that we have loved so much, 
Made it immortal, and we shrine 
The faded flower as half divine : 

As we touch ofttimes in awe and love 
A harp's dumb strings no more to move, 

(127) 



128 Longfellow. 

And think of the fingers that used to stray 
Across its chords in a mystic way, 
We shut our eyes and seem to hear 
The olden music sweet and clear. 

Thus it is with the poet dead, 
Forgetfulness can never spread 
Its mantle o'er his sweet, loved songs, 
Or hide the fame that to him belongs. 
For some sweet word of his will hide 
Within our hearts and long abide. 

The harp he touched with magic strain 
Never will gladden our hearts again. 
No other hands can the chords awake. 
Nor fingers have the power to make 
The music that the hands, now still, 
Brought forth, in rhythm, at his will. 

The beautiful song-flowers he made 
Never in all time's reign will fade, 



Longfellow. . 129 

Ever fresh with some beauty new 

Upon life's way their fragrance strew, 

For the motionless hands have a life work 

wrought, 
Of which perchance the heart ne'er thought 



Maiting. ' 

We are waiting, waiting, 

Our own hearts scarcely know 

For what the eager waiting. 
In the days that come and go. 

Waiting for something better 
In some distant day to see, 

Or, perchance, for untold sorrows 
That may never be. 

Waiting in the morning 

For the restful shade of night. 
V/aiting in the evening 

For the morrow's light. 

Waiting for the future 
To unfold unto our view. 

Paths our feet will follow. 
Duties we shall do, 
(130) i 



Waiting. 1 3 1 

In vain all our striving 

To catch the faintest ray 
Of light from the mystic future, 

Or glimpse of the coming day. 

So we keep waiting, waiting. 
With hearts in patient beats, 

Losing ofttimes in sighing 
Much of the present sweets. 

For to hearts long waiting 

There may never be 
Anything as blissful sweet 

As the future mystery. 

And yet we turn so wistful, 

With eager, longing eyes, 
To the veiled road before us, 

Wherein our pathway lies. 

And hearts oft disappointed 
Turn back with bitter tears 



1 32 Waiting. 

To the past misspent in waiting 
For sorrow-laden years. 

Yet we ne'er will learn the lesson, 
Though told oft o'er and o'er, 

To live within the present, 
Nor strive to look before. 

Until on our longing vision 

The light of heaven shall break, 

Souls will not cease their waiting, 
Or tired hearts cease to ache. 



Ca n Jfruntr. 

With fleetest wings and flying feet^ 
" Old Time" ceaseless roving, 

Comes to-day with a wreath of years^ 
His constant flitting proving ; 

For oh ! a year is as a dream, 

So fast we glide adown life's stream^ 

A wreath of years he brings to thee^ 

And onward ever flyings 
He pauses not to heed your tears. 

Nor careth he for sighing ;, 
Still ever on until it be 
His flight end in Eternity. 

A wreath of years, and do you dread 
This token of life's adorning ? 

There are roses, oh ! so fresh and fair. 
He brought you in life's morning ; 

So back apace your memory steals, 

And all that morning's beauty feels. 

(133) 



134 To a Friend. 

Forty-six times he has come to you. 
Each time a new flower weaving, 

Blossoms so fair, some rich and rare. 
Some stained by tears of grieving ; 

A fitting tribute to us all, 

For lives must fade and flowers must fall. 

And ere you lay the wreath aside, 
As you count the blossoms over, 

Hidden beneath how many thorns 
The rose-like petals cover ! 

Yet after years of trust you find 

The hand that gave the thorns was kind. 

Already the flowers are giving signs 
Of Autumn's withering finger, 

And over the buds of summer-tide 
Your heart will fondly linger ; 

For every heart so often grieves 

At the certain coming of autumn leaves. 

May it be each year when Time shall come, 
An added year in weaving, 



To a Friend, 13S 

That he may bring you more of joy 

And less of care and grieving, 
That the sky of life may grow more bright 
As day creeps closer unto night. 

So when the record of life is closed, 
And the last sweet cloud is riven. 

We may gladly lay down the wreath of years 

For a fadeless crown in heaven, 
Knowing that those who patiently bear 

Are fitted a nobler crown to wear. 



'TwAS an evening in June, 
And a bright silver moon 

Hung boldly out in the sky, 
While mosquitoes had come, 
And beginning to hum, 

With beetles beginning to fly. 

The parks were well lit, 
For the town had seen fit 

A gala day to have given. 
And the lanterns below, 
As they swung to and fro, 

Sought to rival the lanterns of heaven. 

A lass fair and tall 

Like sunflowers in fall, 

From all of the rest claimed attention ; 
(136) 



What I Saw, 1 37 

And a young man was there 
With this girl tall and fair,, 

I nigh had forgotten to mention. 

They walked, oh ! so slow. 
Scarcely seeming to go. 

Their glances bewitchingly tender ; 
Though much shorter than she, 
He in strength seemed to be 

A most brave and loving defender. 

The moon looking down. 
Cast aside every frown, 

And grinned in merriest glee p 
While the stars seemed to strive 
Nearer earth to arrive, 

This wonderful couple to see. 

The ** June bugs," amazed^ 
Were utterly dazed. 

And folded their beautiful wings. 
While the light zephyrs sigh 
As the breeze passes by, 

Forgetful of all other things. 



138 What I Sazv. 

A gazer in despair 
Was bold to declare 

She resembled a kitten most sick, 
And leaned nearer her beau, 
As said kitten, you know, 

Might lean toward a heated brick. 

As they passed from my sight 
Out into the night, 

And the romantic vision there died, 
I noticed a toad 
As he sat by the road 

Looked longingly after and sighed. 



C^^ ^eiisou^ 



It is not the April sunshine, love, 
Nor May with its blossoms rare, 
That fills my heart with sweet, sweet peace, 
' And leaves such brightness there ; 
'Tis the sunshine of life 
And flowers of love 
That make life seem so fair. 

The sunlight of April fades, love, \ 

Sweet flowers of May must die. 

And away from the chilling autumn wind 

The singing birds will fly ; 

But trust never wanes. 

And hope singeth on. 

And love has a changeless sky. 

What though dark shadows fall, love, 
Where fair, bright sunlight shone, 

(139) 



140 The Reason. 

They cannot dim the eye of faith 
Or drive us from our own, 
And souls long wedded, 
Whatever may come, 
Can never be alone. 

Forever, love, and my lips meet thine 

To seal again the pledged vow, 
Forever love's bright sun shall shine 
Just as it shineth now. 

And the touch of time. 
While love is mine. 
Falls lightly on my brow. 



Over the hills a chastened shimmer 
Of crystal light, a softened glimmer 

Of moonbeams fair, 
On the snow-clad earth caressing, 
Like a symbol of God's blessing 

Resting there. 

Into hearts, soft rays are falling, 
Blessed, holy thoughts forth calling, 

Christmas even ; 
For our lives grow strangely brighter. 
Proof of love to make hearts lighter. 

Love of heaven. 

Many lives and hearts nigh breaking 
On this blessed night awaking 
To God's care ; 

(141) 



142 Christmas Eve. 

Stfonger hands their own are holding, 
Loving arms are them enfolding, 
Rest is there. 

^ And upon the glorious morrow 
They awake to joy, for sorrow 

All has flown ; 
For to us a Son is given, 
Opening up the gates of heaven 

To His own. 

And to mourning ones the story 
Is not simply of God's glory 

To us given, 
But the Christmas tale forever 
Of a life where friends ne'er sever. 

Life in heaven. 

Blessed night ! sweet strains are stealing, 
While about the throne are kneeling 

Angel bands, 
*' Peace on earth," God's will forever 
For His mercy now and ever 

Firmly stands. 



ilbiit go-cs it gtatte? 



What does it matter if my life 
Be as a changeless, dreary way ? 

What does it matter if my work 
Still be repeated every day? 

What can it matter after all 

If the way be hard or the path be bright, 

If I have finished my duties all 
Complete at night ? 

What does it matter if my flowers 
Wither and fade e'en at their bloom, 

And brightest hopes so soon are laid 
Crushed and blighted within the tomb ? 

What will it matter if I catch 

Some ray of light God may yet send, 

And keep my heart patient and light 
Unto the end ? 

(143) 



144 W/iat Does it Matter ? 

What does it matter if the path 

Seems ever so hard and long, 
And other ways stretch out so fair 

For those who seem more strong ? 
Ere the ending it yet may be 

The path may broaden smooth and wide, 
And sweet flowers bloom no more to fade 
On every side. 

What does it matter ? life at best 

Is only a wearisome way, 
And hearts grow tired and long for rest 

At almost every day ; 
Yet with sweet hope and faith 

We shall not miss the flowers or light, 
And glorious will our life-work be 
Complete at night. 



2^0 €mmir. 

As Time goes hurrying ever on, 
Bringing us years, each one by one, 

A custom, dear and olden. 
Of offering some friendly cheer, 
Good wishes for the coming year, 

Comes as the sunlight golden. 

Then as he comes to you to-day 
With another year of life's sweet May, 

The custom I remember. 
And wish you joy through all the days, 
Thrcnigh all life's strange, unfathomed ways, 

Through May and chill December. 

May sunlight fall with brightest rays 
On every path, o'er roughest ways, 
And if its light be clouded, 

10 (145) 



146 To Euinia. 

Remember darkness will not last, 
'Tis for a while the sky is o'ercast, 
For a little the sun is shrouded ; 

And if the May-time of life is best, 
We pause awhile in its light and rest, 

It will make us all the stronger — 
Stronger to tread where the way grows steep, 
Stronger to bear when the shadows are deep. 

When the winding path grows longer. 

And I drink to you with best of cheer, 
May the future be a bright, fair year, 

May best of blessings be given ; 
With many and many a happy return, 
Till the 'Mamp of life," when it ceases to 
burn. 

Be exchanged for the light of heaven. 



There is just a whisper of Autumn 
Throughout the beautiful land, 

The leaves of the trees confessing 
The touch of a painter's hand, 

Bright-hued leaves, and is that all ? 

Flowers that fade and leaves that fall. 

There has been an abundant harvest, 
A great and bountiful yield, 

The golden sheaves are all garnered, 
Gathered from out the field — 

Fruit and sheaves come every fall, 

An abundant harvest ; is that all ? 

Yet no ! methinks there are whispers 
That come with the sheaves of grain. 

In through the leaves bright tinted. 
That tell of Autumn again, 

(147) 



148 



That ?s All. 



The so<"t wind siL;h,s of a coiuiuest ci^reat, 
And tlic triinnph of thost^ wlio v/ork and 
wait. 

When the brii^ht luu^d leaves are dyinij, 
The winds l)h)W bh'ak and stron<^", 

TlirobbiiiLi' thron^hont all nature 
Cometh tlie victor's soni;", 

And we on hfe's threat battle-field 

Wait for the fruits it will \'et yield. 



The golden rod in the nu^adows 

Nods its <^ay i^ilded i)lunic, 
With its brit^htduied asters openini;" 

In all their richest bh^oni ; 
'Tis (jod's own syndjol in Nature's ih\'nie 
That tells our reward at harvest-time. 



Eliffcrcnt Mans. 

LiI'E's ij^reat, broad path divides so oft 

Into so ni.my ways ; 
I^^or every life some veroin^r road 

That chanL;es with the days. 

All have some separate path to tread, 

Duties for them alone, 
E'en the sunshine fair or bird's sweet son^ 

hV)r eaeh a different tone. 

Ah ! the path divides so oft, 1 ween. 

And loving ones must part, 
To tread the dark, diver<;ini2: ways. 

Hut hope still cheers the heart. 

The countless paths make only one. 
Life's different works combine. 

And the t^olden threads will after all 
Make only one design. 

(M9^ 



!50 Differ eyit Way^. 

We lose for a time the clasped hand 

We held in other days, 
But we shall hold the same again 

When we reach the broader ways. 

And Faith's sweet song along the way 

Is that we all shall meet 
In the broad, smooth road that ne'er divides 

And leads to the golden street. 



go Wit Jforgct 



? 



Do we forget in chill November days, 

When clouds hang low and skies are dark, 

The sweet spring buds, the summer's warmth, 
The dew-bent roses, and the singing lark ? 

Do we forget all these and shivering say, 

For winter's gloom there is no sunlight ray ? 

Do we not rather keep in memory still 

The bright, fair flowers, the summer's 
fervid glow, 
And almost hear the music of the birds 

That left us but a few short weeks ago, 
Until by the sweet spell of memory's charm. 
E'en in November days our hearts grow 
warm ? 

Do we forget when life creeps surely on 

To its November days with dark, dull skies, 
The golden light, or sweeter flower-strewn 
way 
That just a little way behind us lies ? 

(151) 



152 Do We Forget? 

Because the past calls these bright days its 

own, 
Has all the memory of their brightness flown ? 

Ah ! bright life days, past ever from our 
way, 
And beauteous flowers we never more 
shall see, 
Forgetfulness its pall can never lay 

Upon the memory that we hold of thee ; 
And blessed be the brightness, reaching 

down 
Unto the valley which dread shadows crown. 

Who can forget ? Although the flowers are 
gone, 
And dear loved faces long ago were hid, 
Time may assuage the pain, but memory 
dear 
Keeps ever fair the face 'neath coflin-lid, 
While hope points yonder to the setting sun, 
And whispers ever of our waiting one. 



